Ignite
by the Red Nothing
Summary: Sent to fetch his unruly daughter from the headmaster's office, a protective father almost loses it. The elusive Reno domesticus reflects. (fixed, I hope)


**Summary: **Called to the school office to fetch his unruly daughter, a protective father almost loses it. The elusive Reno domesticus reflects.

**_TEH WARNING: _**This story is a first-person Reno narrative. So, uhm, guess what the language is like! Also! Racism is dealt with in this story! YAY RACISM! It's generally treated as a bad thing, but Reno gets kind of pissed toward the middle. You've been warned.

**Ignite**

**by Akai Kuu**

It began with a phone call at work yesterday.

Not that I have ta work, ya understand -especially not at a fuckin' tourist bar- but damned if I'm gonna let some woman support me while I just sit around on my ass. It's not bad, really. Now that I own the place, I even get good money for it; though sometimes I think it was better when I was workin' for the old man, just to see the reactions of people who caught a glimpse of me polishin' the odd glass. They'd never give more than that -an' half the time, if I caught 'em doing that much, they'd start bowin' and muttering apologies like a fat pimp clinging to a cliff side.

So fuckin' _proper_, these people. Wouldn't let on that they'd bat an eyelash if they saw me done up like a circus clown. Shit. I'm almost tempted to try that. You know, I don't have much pride left, and I think I like it that way. Makes life more fun. Gives the newspaper cronies somethin' to write about. She'd kill me if I ever tried the clown thing, though -she'd be laughing her ass off as she did it, of course, but fuck if she wouldn't kill me. 

It was still tempting.

Anyway, I was mindin' the counter while Kira took her cigarette break, looking for trouble. So I could stop it, I mean. Not start it... Che, might's well have been takin' a nap. For one thing buddy, there's _never _any trouble in _my _bar. Sure, we'll get the odd drunk dancin' around on the table at two in th'morning, but there's no harm in that. Some're actually pretty talented, for drunken white-collar assholes. But if anyone starts _breaking _shit, which includes glasses, tables, and other customers, they find themselves limping outta there feelin' like a steer on the wrong end of a cattle-prod.

For another, it was eleven on a Tuesday morning. I scowled -the most interesting thing in my line of vision was the Geisha's Bingo Club, a prerequisite of which was apparently "no members under 102." Wooboy. I've really gotta think about easing up on scaring th'piss out of the friendly neighborhood miscreants; I've always been... partial to trouble.

Kennichi was behind me. He's a good kid, strong build, nice hair, could be a lady-killer if he weren't th' most polite pansy of the lot of 'em. I never even have to turn around to know if he's hovering there; the guy gives off Ultra-Violet Apology _Rays _or something. He was holding a telephone, trying to say something, but just kinda stammering. I rolled my eyes and snatched the thing out of his hands, leavin' him to his inner dilemma of whether to leave, because hearing another person's conversation is just fuckin' _awful_, or to wait, lest "Reno-sama" hafta hang up the phone by _himself. _

Oh, it's the wife.

Initial reaction: What did I do _now_?

Being as busy a woman as she is, I somehow doubted she'd called just to tell me how much she adores me. Didn't entirely rule it out though. She sounded upset, but not I-want-to-slit-my-good-for-nothing-husband's-throat upset. I frowned slightly. _Dammit, slow down woman, I can't hear a fucking word you're saying. _ I plugged my pinky in my left ear to try ta block out some of the sound, managing to catch a phrase that clued me in.

"...and once again, _your _daughter is..."

My eyes glinted -don't ask how I know, they just did, all right- and I melted against the wall, a casual slump. A bemused smirk twitched at my lips, and I adjusted my grip on the phone.

"What'd our little spitfire do this time?"

-

Forty-five minutes later, I was standing in what is probably the creepiest building in the whole fucking country, and also, surprise surprise, th' same place my only daughter spends her weekdays, eight to three. That place is _not_ a school; schools are supposed ta have scuff marks on the floors, papers and backpack straps sticking outta lockers, obnoxious laughter echoing through the hallways, and generally show signs of being inhabited by _kids_. But _no_. Not at Shoryu _Academy_. No cheap linoleum floors there, no sir. Everything's the finest, stiffest wood there, from the floors and walls that look like they were varnished by slaves with toothbrushes, to the sticks up the majority of the faculty's asses.

Fuck I hate that place. I've always hated to think of her there all day... If I could, I'd say, I'd pull her outta here, stick her someplace normal. But Godo, for some stupid reason, made us swear ta send our kids here; it was a _tradition_, like everything else in this country. All right, I'd thought, no big. Yuffie didn't seem so enthusiastic; I should've paid more attention, but I admit I wasn't exactly thinking about where our nonexistent kids were gonna be getting educated at the time. It was more along the lines of, "Holy shit, I get to marry the princess" followed by "Holy fuck, I'm viewing this as a good thing." Now I know why Yuff was twitching as soon as the school was mentioned. I'll make it up to the kid, make sure she gets sent someplace decent when she starts high school next year..

"Nevara-sama."

A woman was standing in the hallway of the school. A secretary-page kinda thing. I'm not heavy into descriptions, but let's just say she was the complete inverse of that total hottie that pushed Reeve's papers for awhile. Navy dress. Heels. Glasses. Hair tied up. Clipboard. And, after a habitual check for a wedding ring, I was immediately sorry for her kids. She bowed politely, which I returned with a most refined squint, nodding in acknowledgment. She seemed a bit... put out by that.

Disregard for tradition: check.

"This way please." I followed, my gaze wandering through windows into crypt-like classrooms, lined with identical black-haired children. I didn't hafta watch where she was takin' me; even if I hadn't been this way five thousand times, I could've just followed the clacking of her heels. Into the main office we went, behind a counter and to the back, through a door with "HEADMASTER" printed neatly upon it.

Oh, he's a headmaster all right...

That door actually leads to a waiting room. Never has looked like it belongs in a school: leather upholstered chairs, a little cubicle for the secretary, and the _real _door leading to the Headmaster's office in the back. The woman flipped through her clip-board pristinely. So self-fuckin-important. I wanted ta poke her in the fucking eye.

...on a side note, I've found my threats are lacking, lately.

"Ayame-san," Secretary Stick-Ass said severely, "your father is here."

_My kid's not blind, thanks._ Dressed in dress pants and a blouse, both the same grey-blue monstrosity that everyone _else_ seemed to wear there, she was the only person in the room aside from me and the secretary, and she did _not_ look happy. And I don't fuckin' blame her.

I strode toward her, my hands thrust in my pockets. She was holding a glare at nothing in particular, which was a good thing; If she _had _beenfocusing it on anything, I'd bet money it would've gone up in flames. I knew this look: This was the sulk where ya make 'em piss their pants instead of feeling sorry for ya: The Patented Kisaragi Pout.

"Hi there, _Sierra_," I said pointedly, loud enough for the secretary to hear and winning a small smile from my daughter. It was infectious; I could feel the corner of my mouth rising into a lopsided smirk.

I stood there for a moment, looking her over. My daughter, age 13. Sierra Ayame Kisaragi-Nevara. Or, as those fucks prefer to call her, Ayame Kisaragi. Sounds more "normal." Gee thanks guys, that's right, my wife just _popped _her out one day; Leviathan knows _I _had nothing ta do with it! Bullshit. You could've just looked at the kid. Yeah, there were her mommy's eyes behind those glasses, and her skin's only about a shade lighter. But that cutesy little ponytail that I _know _comes _flying _out the second the bell rings at 2:45 is always gonna be that bright, screaming _red._

Yeah, ok, sure. She's one hundred percent pure Wutaian, buddy. The fuckin' _Chromosome Fairy _just decided to drop by one night...

The secretary informed us that the Headmaster would be with us "in a moment." I sat next to the kid, and she, by way of further greeting, continued to glare. My _God _she looked like Sierra. My sister. Her namesake. Obviously, Sierra didn't have the eastern features, but she did have that fiery determination I'm always seeing in these Wutaian guys... I survived in the slums because of Sierra waving that knife of hers around and slamming her boots into anything that looked at me funny. I looked at my girl again, my eyes following the shape of her jaw, identical to her mother's. Y'know, for all th'time I spent looking at pretty girls, it figures I'd fall in love with the one who reminded me of the only woman I could really trust in my life.

My sister disappeared one winter when she was sixteen. I was eight. I don't think she made it; I found the necklace she always wore: two nails fused together by rust, forming a cross. In fact, I know she didn't make it; even if I hadn't found the necklaces, no one just vanishes in the Old Midgar slums and turns up fine and dandy later. I wear the necklace under my shirt. One of these days I'll give it to the kid.

Yes, it's all very sentimental. Shut up.

"So," I said casually, resting my hands behind my head, "whatcha in for, kid?" She didn't face me, but remained hunched over her folded arms, mentally setting her eye lasers from "stun" to "kill."

"Didn't they tell you?" she grumbled suddenly, pulling on the sleeve of her navy dress-shirt.

"Your 'old lady' called me at work." Sierra calls her that. I love it. "She was pretty pissed, y'know." I dropped my teasing attitude then, and looked at her hard. "Something about you starting a fight?"

Sometimes, a little voice inside of me will whisper not to stare too hard with my glowing eyes. Cobra eyes. I remember when she asked me about them. She was four, maybe. I couldn't say anything, at first. How the hell could I? How do you tell your toddling kid that her daddy's eyes are glowing from poison? What, was I supposed to say that Daddy had a nice little job slitting throats and squashing cities like pancakes?

"They're pretty," she'd said, leaving me slack-jawed as she skipped away. A-fuckin-mazin', that kid.

She's wasn't saying anything now, though. I frowned, dropping my hands to my lap.

"Sierra?" I pressed. Her jaw clenched visibly, and she looked further away.

"The punk deserved it," she muttered darkly. My eyebrows rose.

"Did he?" I said quietly. "Do better than that, Sierra. Ya know I don't like you fighting without a _damned _good reason." I meant that, too. I've killed enough people, more than enough to know the value of those words. Fuck, laugh if you think I'm a hypocrite.

It was quiet for a moment, save for the rustling of the secretary's papers, before Sierra lifted her head and finally looked me square in the eyes again.

"They were talking shit about my hair again..."

It was her eyes that stopped me from telling her to watch her damned language. For an instant, they burned, blazing straight ahead; not really at me, not through me, but bypassing me entirely while heading in a thin, crimson line. Rage. Something I knew well. And then the fire dulled; a fog slid into her eyes, toned them down, and her gaze slid downward. Like it just wasn't worth it to get angry, to be hurt.

_they were talking shit about my hair again_

I paused. And I thought. Sierra wasn't some kinda fuckin' princess... Unless I missed somethin' major in the last decade and a half of my life.

_shitaboutmyhairagain_

But for it to bother her... what _these _kids said...

_shithairagain_

And I knew.

It was fast. I've always been fast. My speed got me lots of places I didn't wanna be, back in the day. In a second, the door was down and hands were gripping the lapels of a balding and terrified Wutaian man in the midst of a conference call. The receiver dropped, cracking the glass covering of his shit-colored desk. Now it was _my _turn to unleash the fire in my eyes, and by fucking Holy, it was worth enough for me for the inferno to consume my entire body.

"You _motherfucking bastard._" The words, a hiss of venom, seeping from between gritted teeth. A voice that startled me as one of my own, one I'd thought I'd put away forever. There was an earthquake, the horror-stricken thrashings of the old_ fuck's _body, and trembling of my white hands. _Not so steady anymore, Nevara_

'_Good, you sick bastard'_

_but_

_I _

_hate_

"You _knew_ about this, _you elitist little fuck!" _My muscles were howling as the fire ravaged and scraped along them, digging its claws into them, igniting in ecstacy as the burning surge gave voice to things inside my head, screaming _throw him, smash him against the wall, crush his head against the fucking desk! _

But a faint cry of something rational caught my attention then. Not enough to put out the flame, _fuck _no, but enough so that I didn't split the son of a bitch's skull open with a letter opener. I decided to put him down.

Let him fall, down.

Let my muscles give gravity a little help by throwin' him in the general direction of down.

"_So, _how long has this been going on" I was crouched before him on the regal blue carpet, his large eyes fearfully rolling about the room. "_Lookit me, you FUCK!" _ Grabbed 'im again by the throat, flashed my teeth right in his _dirty little face_. "_What's wrong? Don't like me? Don't like me fuckin' your queen? Think she's a whore or somethin'!"_

There was no answer, just a pathetic little whimper that made me wanna vomit up _shit_ all over him. "_ANSWER ME!" _ Fuck it. Fuck patience. I was blind, my fuckin' eyes were burned out. I'd fuckin' lost it. I couldn't believe it, I _would not allow it. _All of those weird little problems Sierra had been having in this place were finally making sense... I didn't even consider it. Hell, the rest of the kingdom fuckin' loved her. She was part of a big adventure, becomin' part of the new world. But the traditionalists were out there, the fuckin' purists who thought nothin' was good unless it had yellow skin, slanty eyes, black hair, and a dick. I didn't realize, I didn't _know... _but I should have.

"Daddy..."

My eyes twitched, the fire stinging them. She didn't have to finish... I could tell by the slight waver in her voice, barely masked yet still detectable. Yeah... I had a reason. But by my own standards... it wasn't good enough.

I stood, contemplating kicking Shitface in the ribs... But I told myself I couldn't hurt him. I couldn't really harm anyone anymore... which was total bullshit, but I listened to myself anyway. I towered over his quivering mass for a moment, some kinda pillar over his cowardice. A smoldering pyre, pure barely-contained rage perfect and unbroken across its surface, except for two pits of searing Mako.

I could feel the stares of my daughter and the sod's secretary plowing between my shoulder blades. Slowly, it all began to cool...

"_Fine,_" I spat down on him, "_but don't you dare__take it out on my kid." _

With a final snake-like hiss, I turned on my heel, in that movement allowing the burn to extinguish entirely. I gently placed my drained hand on the small of Sierra's back. Thank God she didn't flinch, or try to shy away... In fact, she carried her head higher now...

"C'mon kid," I said wearily, "let's go home..."

The Headmaster lay limp as a marionette, limbs flopping with little resistance as his little secretary shook him wildly. He wouldn't be getting up for awhile, and I held that thought to me with a rush of sadistic satisfaction. It wouldn't be from any wound I'd delt him...

The fire of a Turk burns ice blue.

-

After that, the scandal was revealed. It turns out that Sierra wasn't the only kid being discriminated against at the prestigious Shoryu Academy; pretty much all of the few kids who weren't completely Wutaian were taking shit. Makes me grit my teeth l when I think about it, even in passing. They're _kids_, for God's sake. They've got no control over who their parents were! Whadda they think fuckin' around with their heads is gonna do? Make 'em feel guilty enough ta go back in time and kill their parents? Realize what terrible, terrible people they are for lookin' different, and hate themselves? What's sick is that the second one actually happens -or the kid will do what Sierra did, and lash out, beating the shit out of some other kid in the middle of Algebra. Give them a few years an' a gun, and you've got shit that the whole world hasta deal with.

Rich kids just don't get that their teasin' does so much damage; I doubt they even realize they're dealing with other people. Personally, if I were their parents, I'd kick their little asses til they cleaned up their act. But these so-called adults are letting 'em get away with it, even doin' it themselves... Not only hatin' people because of th'way they were born, something they have _no fucking control over_, but doing it to _children_. I hate ta sound like a fuckin hippie, but it's one of the most disgusting things I've ever heard of, an' I've seen some pretty _damned _twisted shit.

I need to stop thinkin about yesterday for five minutes; I usually don't have this problem with enjoying the moment. I'm lyin' on my back in the grass near a river, the sun just setting on a spring day so picturesque it belongs on a birthday card from someone's grandmother. It's a way out from the city, someplace secret that Yuffie, Sierra an' I sometimes come out to for hokey family picnics where we wile away the hours laughing at people we can't stand. It's... relaxing. The cicadas are chirping softly, and the fireflies will be out soon. It's so different here than Midgar, especially the Midgar I grew up in: the air is cleaner, most of the people are too honest for their own good, and ...

I can see the sky.

I'm glad she's getting to grow up here, and hopefully, now that me an' Yuff are _personally_ overseeing the restaffing of Shoryu, it'll be even better. She's a good kid -I can hear her scrambling through the river nearby, trying to catch some weird-ass slimy thing, probably- and she deserves this.

I sure as hell don't know how_ I _got here; I know I deserve nothing better than rotting alone in some cell. But... somehow everything worked out. It's like some kind of Hand of God moved me the past twenty years, doing the impossible and easing me gently out of that old life. Someone once said that blood never really washes off of you; sometimes, I'll do things -like the incident yesterday with Headmaster Shun- that prove that well enough for me. But family's made the stains fade, and now they remain a subdued blue in the back of my memory. I've kind've let myself dissolve into this life, watching the world above through the surface of my sky...

I sit up and watch her, catching just a glimpse of her as she should be, or at least how I like to see her: the tuquoise shirt, the crooked sash, her glasses discarded and her hair free... One glimpse is all I get.

The kid slips on a rock and splashes down into three feet of riverwater. She's... uh, never been one for grace.

I smile and shake my head as I stand, drifting through the tall grass to the river's edge. She stands too, scowling lividly, glaring at me, just _daring _me to laugh.

I can't believe I have her...

"Need help, Princess?" She narrows her eyes, but I can tell she's not really angry. Believe me, I know when the girl is pissed.

"I think I can stand up in three feet of water, thanks." She pokes out her tongue at me as she does so, the sunset glinting blindingly for a second on the metallic kneepad she wears for some reason that completely escapes me. The echoing _bloop _of the water sopping off of her clothes scatters some koi who'd been brave enough to venture back after her initial splashdown.

I subtly widen my eyes, feigning shock. I lift a brow, inquiring if she's challenging me. The little spitfire narrows her greys and extends her tongue further.

I pause for effect, then stick my tongue out in reply.

"OK, that's _it!_" She tightens the strap on the single leather glove she wears before stamping her bare feet into the earth and charging.

Oh, fuck. I just -

WHAM.

Sometimes, I lie awake at night and ask myself: Why the _fuck_ does my daughter have to know _judo_? She just grabbed my arm and flipped me over her shoulder... Am I getting that fuckin' old?

In an instant, she's jumped on my stomach and grappling with me. Or flailing randomly. Whatever. As soon as the shattered fragments of what was once my _spine _reassemble themselves, I strike back, trying in vain to get her off of me. Well, almost vain -I do manage a couple of times, but she just jumps back _on_.

"Fuck, that _hurt!_"

"Watch your mouth old man!"

"Who the hell are you calling old, you little brat!"

"Takes one to know one!" I stop struggling and just fall onto my back, catching my breath. She smirks triumphantly, shifting on my chest, making sure I don't get away. Shit, did I ever have that much energy? I feel fuckin' sorry for my sister...

"That," I breathe, "didn't even make any _sense_."

"Sure it did."

"Whatever," I groan with a dismissive wave of my hand. Maybe it did, for all I know...

"Hey Dad?"

I hadn't even realized I'd closed my eyes. Sierra is peering down at me, her face smeared with mud from falling in the river and then squirming in the dirt. She's holding something between cupped hands. I snort intelligently.

"Remember when I asked you why fireflies lit up?" Huh. That was an odd thing to ask. But it's gotten darker, now that I look. Aha, the little glowbugs are out...

"Yes," I lie, puffing a strand of hair out of my face. She twists her lips and shakes her head.

"You said," she goes on, casually letting me know that she doesn't believe me for a second, "that they glow just... 'because they feel like it.'" I open my mouth at the same time she opens her hands, and I see, for the first time, what a firefly looks like close up. It's maybe a centimeter long, a thin insect that's almost completely black. But its head... it's striking. It's a deep red, and -I've got no idea why- it has a perfect black circle in the center.

Maybe I'm crazy, but it's kind of a revelation for me. I stare transfixed as its back unfolds into a pair of wings and it spirals skyward, glowing, in my opinion, brilliantly. I've seen thousands of those little gold pinpoints of light up here, but never until just now did I realize that they were something so _real_...

"...is that even possible?" Sierra's voice stirs me gently from my thoughts. Her brows are furrowed, just slightly, and I can tell she's genuinely curious. I cast one last glance after the little bug before resting my hand on top of her head.

"Yeah," I smile, letting my fingers trail through rivers of gentle fire, "It's possible." She eyes me with confusion for a moment, but I just shake my head. "Trust me kid... I know these things."

**fin For my father February 17th, 2005.**

_Note: From what little I know about the mechanics of judo, I think it's possible for a skilled child to flip an unsuspecting adult. I could be completely wrong here, however._

And if you're reading Crowsong, don't worry. I almost have chapter four done.


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